


Unwrap

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A-Z Christmas Prompt, John is a Mess, M/M, Massage, Pining John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock wants attention, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “Unwrap me.”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Unwrap

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Gem_Gem: As it's getting closer to Christmas, Kittie and I are becoming a little more stressed and distracted, so stories may not be as edited as we would like. The stories will be revisited again later however, and will be updated/edited then.  
> Things might be added or deleted or changed during the edit.  
> 

“ _Unwrap_ me.”

John slowly glanced up at Sherlock from behind his book and frowned, hating how easily, how quickly, how automatically his skin flushed at the connotations that the small utterance had invoked. Sherlock was wearing his blue dressing gown and not much else, because of course not, and although he was faintly scowling with a petulant pout, as if he were in one of his childish moods, he had his arms spread out to his sides in eager invitation, fingers wiggling the more John stared, doing nothing. As always with Sherlock, things just sometimes came out of nowhere, just appeared or started, and he’d look at John as if he should know why. 

“Or," Sherlock murmured with a sharp, huffing sigh, dropping his arms to point at him with a playful wink, still pouting, "I can unwrap you? - _Yes_ , let me unwrap you.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed.

"Get you all _unwrapped_!"

" _Sherlock_..."

"Need my daily dose of John Watson--"

Putting the book down on his knee with a loud thump and rubbing his eyes, trying not to smile, John tried again, “ _Sherlock_. I've just got warm… my shoulder _aches_ , I feel like I've been thawed from a _glacier_ … I don't really fancy anything – strenuous.” 

Sherlock leaned down to him and gave his jumper a tug, smoothing his hands down to gather up the hem, “Not precisely unwrapping you, of course,” he murmured, as if John hadn’t said a thing, “but we _are_ removing a _sort_ of wrapping from this fatigued body of yours.”

“Mm, fatigued is right,” John grumbled and glared at him, at the pout that still held his mouth, but cautiously lifted his arms, wincing at the sudden twinge from his shoulder. “Why is it that _everyone_ decides to need to see a doctor the week before Christmas? Do they think they need to have a full check up before they eat themselves half to death? Honestly, it's been _insane_.” 

“Um, yes,” Sherlock replied with a shrug, clearly not interested or really listening to him as he pulled the jumper off, flung it over his shoulder, and started to work on the buttons of John’s shirt, stroking the skin of his clavicle and chest as he went. John knew he should be annoyed, or rather more annoyed, but Sherlock leaned closer still and pressed a momentary kiss to his lips, and he let it go. Begrudgingly. “Sit forward so I can have this.”

John raised an eyebrow and considered making a snarky comment but decided against it, following Sherlock's instructions and allowing his shirt to be unbuttoned and thrown to one side. Thankful that the fire was still burning low, keeping the temperature moderately warm in the flat as Sherlock carefully undressed him, his nimble fingers making quick work of his vest until he was topless. Sherlock then paused and began running his hands, his palms, knuckles, fingertips, nails, all over John's exposed torso, worshiping him reverently, gaze intent. Pout still very much in place. He glanced up at John briefly, dropped another kiss to his mouth, and then nosed his way down his throat, letting his lips roll leisurely over his pulse. It felt good, as it was obviously meant to, and John relished it, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of him.

" _God_... Sherlock, I—"

“I hope you’re not wearing any bad looking underwear. _Again_ ,” Sherlock commented, reaching down and close for his buckle and zip, nosing first back up John’s throat and trailing his curls across his cheek in a cat-like nuzzle. "I hope they're... _special_..." 

“Perhaps I'm not wearing _any_ underwear?” John mumbled with a teasing inflection, keeping his voice low and tipping his head forward into Sherlock's hair before giggling. “Sadly, I think they're my tighty whities. Very, very unsexy.”

“ _Exceedingly_ unsexy,” Sherlock agreed and then slipped his arms under John’s armpits, treating him as if he were too tired to really move. Like an exhausted toddler. John supposed he couldn’t complain too intensely, considering he was rather weary. Pushing kisses, too many to count, along John's shoulder, Sherlock moaned softly in contentment and then tugged him. “Up. Stand up.”

John was not proud of the clicking noise his body made as he pushed to stand up and he blinked awkwardly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, “I _hate_ getting old.”

“Everyone does,” Sherlock sighed as he took John’s weight and heaved him further, holding him in a brief, warm, glorious hug before he reached down to push at his loosened trousers. More kisses were laid on John's skin, enough to make him quiver, and Sherlock hummed, sucking at the hinge of his jaw. “Do something useful and step out of them, would you?”

“Mm - Too tired. Can we just hug... for a minute?” John asked, trying for a dramatic playful sigh but instead moaning softly, wantonly, enjoying the warmth and proximity of Sherlock before he shimmied his trousers down to his ankles. Sherlock held him as he stepped out of them, using his left foot to stand on the fabric so he could pull his right foot out, and then he kicked them aside. "This... this is good. Nice... I, uh, I like a hug or two, you know?"

"I do."

John shifted, resting more of himself against Sherlock, feeling the need to say something, say many somethings, "...We could... _possibly_... do more of it then?" 

"Possibly." Pushing several hot kisses to John’s neck, ear and temple, Sherlock swayed them sideways and shuffled John away from his chair, “You don’t smell particularly bad today, even after such an _arduous_ day at that boring clinic you like to pretend is worth getting up in the morning for.”

“It _is_ worth it… most of the time,” John replied, following Sherlock awkwardly and trying not to step on his toes, “And we need the money. It keeps us in biscuits and bleach. Without my wage we'd be eating pot noodles for every meal.”

“You know that’s not true,” Sherlock snorted, walking them in a shifting shamble across the living room and around the coffee table, until John’s legs knocked into the sofa. “Lie down. On your front.”

"On my... front?"

"That _is_ what I said, yes."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

"... _Sherlock_ , why?--"

Sherlock gave the line of his collarbone a sudden, sharp sucking kiss and then cupped the back of his head, glancing up at him, " _Please_?"

“... This _must_ be important to you if you're saying 'please' this early on and bringing out all this... quite nice - _very_ nice, in fact- affection," John mumbled, grunting in desire when Sherlock kissed him and hip bumped him back into, and then down on, the sofa. He fell down with a slight bounce, twitching at the cool touch of leather, and shot a mild glower up at Sherlock's face. " _Sherlock_..."

" _John_ ," he grumbled and twirled his finger around, eyebrow arched. "Front."

"Alright, alright - Just don't do anything... _dastardly,_ okay? Nothing too taxing. I really am exhausted,” he chuckled in defeat, twisting to lie down on his stomach and put his head on a cushion, wiggling and thumping and punching it until he was comfortable. "I... I'm a _bit_ nervous about--"

Sherlock left the living room with a sweeping flick of blue and gave a flippant hand roll, “I’m _almost_ positive that Mrs Hudson won’t come up. She may find a reason to, of course, but I’m hoping the sedative I dropped in her tea would have already mellowed her restless, hassling, nosy mind by now to prevent that.”

“ _What_ ‽” John choked, jerking his head up and almost falling off the sofa in the process, “You can't _drug our elderly landlady_! - What if she has a bad reaction because of her other medication? _Bloody hell_ , Sherlock!”

“Oh she’s fine!” Sherlock called out as he started banging around in the kitchen and the bathroom, or what John assumed was the bathroom. “I've given it to her before. Many times. Think of it akin to her ‘herbal soothers.’ Just want her to relax.”

“ _Christ_...” John snorted.

When Sherlock returned he hopped over the coffee table holding two bottles in his hands, one was a type of lotion and the other was some sort of oil, “ _One_ of these should work,” he mumbled, frowning at the labels of each with a tilted head. “I don’t really think it matters which…”

"Work? Work for... _what_?"

"I might use this one." 

"Sherlock, what _for_?"

"I don't remember buying it though..."

John flinched and tried to look more closely at the bottle Sherlock had his eye on, craning his neck and pushing up onto his elbows, “ _Oh God_ , it's not one of your _own_ concoctions is it? Because I _like_ my skin. I want to keep it _on_...”

"And I _don't_ want that?" Sherlock returned with thick scoff, making sure to stab John in the side as he climbed up to straddle his waist, sitting down on the back of his thighs with a push of hot skin and slithering silk. "It's Sweet Almond Oil. - And in case it's _still_ not obvious; I'm going to give you a massage."

"Yeah... yeah, I got it," John nodded and lowered his head back onto the cushion, the weight of Sherlock feeling more amazing by the second. It was a different sensation of what he was used to, especially with Sherlock being naked under his robe, yet amazing nonetheless. “Just be careful with the top bit of the scar… that's where it's _really_ sore. I don't want to end up worse off tomorrow and unable to lift my arm _at all_.”

“Do I _have_ to gag you? Because I will. I have the supplies to do so. I’m quite good at rendering people mute, as it happens,” Sherlock groused and with a pop, and a wet squelching ripple, something cold dribbled against his upper spine. He dipped one dexterous finger into it and spread it down in swirling, wiggling, curving sweeps. "In a plethora of ways."

“Do you _want_ to gag me?” John asked, turning his head slightly in an attempt to look at Sherlock, shocked to find the thought more appealing than it really ought to be. “Bit deviant that...”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and then leaned down, a fluttering rush of sudden flirtatious mischievousness taking over his face, “Do _you_ want me to want to gag you?” he husked.

Screwing his eyes closed at his own stupidity, at how easily Sherlock could read sometimes, John clenched his jaw and flushed, “Nuh-No...” 

" _Mm_." Nudging his extremely evident and cocky smirk against John’s cheek, Sherlock kissed him and trailed his finger further and further, dipping into the path of his spine. “I think you _do_ \- Who’s the deviant now?”

John rumbled out a mortified moan and let his good arm swing backwards to slap at Sherlock's leg, “Less talking – more rubbing.”

“Oh I’ll _rub_ you all right,” Sherlock purred, snorting out a laugh when John slapped at him again. “ _Sadism_ too? Kinkier and kinkier...”

" _Shut it_!"

"You started it, John."

“Alright, fine, and now I'm finishing it—God, why do I _always_ end up putting my foot in it?”

Sherlock pushed a quick, small, but rather tender kiss to John’s ear and sat back, finally beginning to actually rub the lotion, or oil, into his skin with kneading, digging, pressing fingers. It hurt. Hurt in the best possible way. John hadn't had a massage since his last physiotherapy session, hadn't the money or the inclination to seek it out again, though he knew he needed it. Had been told to try and keep up some sort of muscle treatment. “Tell me if I hurt you…”

"Have you... done this before?"

"Somewhat."

“Oh, _great_ , I'll try not to squeal too loudly when you accidentally cause some nerve lesions then,” John groused, yet he was already relaxing into the sofa, indulging in the sensation of Sherlock's hands on him. It was incredibly comforting, to have Sherlock's weight against him – his hands on his body – his breath on his neck, it was as if John was surrounded by him. It made him feel safe. Made him feel warm. Made him feel stronger things that he daren't look too deeply at, even if he should. Even though he already knew about them. 

“...I should do this more often,” Sherlock commented a few moments into it, when John was limp and shuddering, somehow caught between overwhelming relaxation and sharp, building arousal. “You have a lot of knots. And some ribs are out of place just a tad…”

“Yeah... I think it's a side effect of my shoulder,” John said, half slurring, and lifted his head to wipe away the saliva which had trickled down his chin, “I... I, uh, overcompensate with one side a lot. Obviously. That causes most of the knots. And then, because I get sore, I hunch my back and that just makes it _worse_. It's _really_ annoying..." Realising he'd just rambled a lot of information that Sherlock had probably already observed and deduced months ago, John shifted, sighed and smiled tightly. "Anyway, yeah, I wouldn't be against you doing this more often – it's _really_ nice.”

“... _Just_ nice?” Sherlock asked, pushing for something extra and adding a bit more pressure on John’s back, enough for an audible few cracks. Cracks that echoed throughout John’s body, his head, and throbbed in the tips of his fingers and toes with a downpour of tingling pleasure. Pushing again, Sherlock shifted, felt around John's ribs and then waited for John to breathe out before pushing for another orchestra of popping cracks. "I deserve at least an _amazing_."

“ _Oh God_ …” John moaned, fingers clenching into the sofa, and then groping behind for Sherlock's legs, squeezing tight in zealous. “That feels like it's realigned _every bone in my spine_. Made everything feel _so_ much better. - Yeah, yeah, okay. Amazing. Fantastic. Brilliant. Fucking _exceptional—_ Christ, you're great at this...”

“Mm. I spent a little time around some chiropractors once,” Sherlock mumbled offhandedly, smoothing his palms up the entire length of John’s back, rubbing at the muscles there. “I can’t do much. But I picked up a few things. It’s an interesting treatment. Not a conventionally medical treatment, but, you do need to have an _extensive_ knowledge of the muscles and joints and bones in the human body to really pull it off correctly.”

“And years of lurking in morgues may have helped with that too, I'd imagine?” John teased, giving Sherlock's legs a small pinch in jest, groaning when Sherlock focussed on a particularly nasty knot. “Oh _bloody hell_ , I don't know whether I want to laugh, cry or shag the sofa in relief.”

Sherlock hummed huskily, “Mixture of bad and good then, this spot in specific?” he asked, working on it with more determination. "Right... here... is it? Just _right here_."

" _Mm_!" John's leg gave a funny little twitch and he kicked the arm rest accidentally, bucking in the next second, almost sending Sherlock toppling over him as he groaned and hitched forward. “ _Fuck_. It's... it's like pressing a bruise in a... in a weird way. Painful but surprisingly enjoyable. A bit... addictive. - It's a confusing feeling.”

“Try not to move so much,” Sherlock rebuked and unexpectedly rocked into John's backside, pushing a rather blatant bulge against his buttocks as he leaned down to attack the nape of John's neck with hot lips, making him faintly disoriented. Like he was high or drunk or both. His cock was full, heavy and hot, trapped against the sofa cushion, and he was already starting to sweat. “It's probably the worst knot so far…”

“It's— _God_.” John groaned, biting his lip so hard that he could taste the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. “I feel that I... that I have to warn you— _Shit_ —I might have a bit of an erection...”

Sherlock paused for a second and exhaled against the back of John’s head in mirth, digging his knuckles in steadily, lips skimming the edge of his ear, “I assumed it would have that kind of effect on you, yes. It's fine. I'm... enjoying this too, John. I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice--” 

" _OhGodyesthere_! - Fucking _fuck_ that hurts--"

"Badly?—"

" _No_! No. No, keep going..." John mumbled, slightly embarrassed by how much he liked it, how much more he wanted and how the shape of Sherlock's cock against his arse made him excitably anxious. “Sorry. It's just – It just that it feels _really_ good and my body… well, it's perked up a bit. That's all—I can feel your skin on mine... I like it. I like it _so_ much... and... uh... and so… ”

“ _John_ , you don’t have to explain why.”

“ _I know_! I know I don't have to but… I don't know, Christ, I don't know what I'm babbling about,” John sighed and turned his head slightly to shyly peek back at Sherlock, knowing his face was red, knowing how eager he must look. “Would you... kiss me? Just a little?” 

Frowning in confusion, Sherlock stopped and bent to him, nosing his way across John’s cheek to get to his mouth, sliding their lips together very lightly, “Stop being so awkward,” he whispered as he pulled back an inch. “You’re ridiculous. I’ve seen you erect. I’ve been erect _with you_. - And the whole point to this was to give you some pleasure. To... banish that mood of yours and—”

"Get me horny? Yeah, well... it worked, you... _fucking bastard_ ," John whispered, straining to kiss Sherlock again and trailing a hand up and down his calve muscle. "Take... tuh-take off your robe..."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "Take off your pants."

Snorting out a breathless laugh, John turned to bury his face into the cushion for a moment, "On _leather_? I'd rather not, actually."

“If I’m going to be naked, I want _you_ naked too,” Sherlock told him, moving to continue massaging John’s back, finding and working on another knot. “And if we’re naked, I want to do _things_ with you.”

“We… we can do that… I'm happy to do that.”

“Not _tired_ any longer?”

“What can I say, you've reinvigorated me,” John murmured and let out a hard, rushing exhale as Sherlock kneaded his hips, his covered bottom, “I'll... I'll probably sleep like the dead afterwards though...”

Rolling down the hem of John's pants, Sherlock hummed with eager intentions, and John felt his heart jump into his throat as he looked back, "Don't look so alarmed."

"I'm... I'm not alarmed."

"Yes you are," Sherlock rumbled and tugged the waistband under John's buttocks with one quick tug, lifting a challenging eyebrow when John tensed. Slowly, Sherlock then untied the sash to his dressing gown. “I like this view of you…”

“Helpless and under you?” John asked, shivering and twisting slightly with uncertainty. “Sounds pleasant...”

“ _You_? Helpless? _Never_ ,” Sherlock replied and gave John’s lower back a tickling caress as exposed himself and slipped the soft, hardened skin of his growing erection up the crease of John's arse. " _Yes_?"

"No..."

Sherlock blinked and deflated, " _No_?"

"No."

"I'm _not_ insinuating what you may think—"

"I can't see you and... I _like_... seeing you..." John cut in with an annoying stammer and a grimace. "And, uh, you _were_. A bit. _Insinuating_ , I mean."

"No," Sherlock huffed and adjusted himself, lifting up on his knees to they were no longer touching. John wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. "I wanted to ejaculate up your back--"

" _Oh God_..."

"--Perhaps get you to ruin these unsexy pants of yours for good measure too. - Small challenge I thought I'd set myself."

John pushed up onto his arms, " _What_?"

" _Yes_ ," Sherlock drawled and with a squinting, considering, darting glance, he got to his feet, dressing gown fluttering open to display more of him. He pushed the cap back onto the bottles and dropped them onto the coffee table, gesturing with a tip of his chin vaguely. “Not now though. Now the moment has passed and your rejection has rather irked me. - Not to mention the fact that you may be aroused, but you're still not up for... _anything_ \- So come on. _Move_. Sit up.”

John thought about arguing, denying, but ended up only nodding in agreement, pulling his pants back into place and twisting to sit up. It was awkward and John was thankful that Sherlock was facing away, so he couldn't see the almost turtle like way that he struggled, " _Look_ , Sherlock, I... I _do_ want—I do appreciate the attention," he mumbled. He felt ashamed and unsure and angry, and the fabric of his pants left almost nothing to the imagination. Cock was swollen and glaringly erect, pushing out, deforming the fabric, making his desire incredibly obvious. "And I wouldn't say _no_ to—"

Sherlock strode off, grabbed some kitchen towels and returned to wipe his back clear, before sitting down beside him, drawing his dressing gown around him, and kissing his cheek, " _Shut up_. I shan't force you to do anything you don't want to do..."

"...I _do_ want to do _something_ with you," John disclosed, letting himself be pressed bodily against Sherlock's naked side. "And that's _why_ you—"

"There are _many_ reasons I wanted to strip you naked and touch you," Sherlock griped.

"Yeah... most of them have to do with—"

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a loud, put upon sigh, and then reached to cup John through his underwear, " _This_ , yes, well, _perhaps_."

"... And I wasn't the only one... in a _mood_ today—You didn't stop scowling! And what's... happened to make you... so... _grabby_?" he gasped, though he didn't really care. Didn't really care about anything now but Sherlock's hand on him. Sherlock's fingers as they tucked under to stroke through to his bollocks and stretch for his perineum. " _Ah_!" His hormones were suddenly racing and he reached for Sherlock. " _Come here_... God, I want... I _want_ —"

Pushing against John's face for a deep enthusiastic kiss, Sherlock snarled at him, “I’ve _wanted_ you all day,” he groaned in admittance, rutting his wet cock into the air faintly, hand teasing and squeezing and rubbing at John. "You drive me to distraction _very_ often..."

“ _Slow_...” John whispered, grinding his hips in steady circles, “Don't want it to be over too quickly...”

Hissing in a sexually frustrated manner, Sherlock bit at his lower lip, " _I do,_ " he told him under his breath and slipped his hand inside to take John's cock in hand, to squeeze and stroke him, jittery with want. John let him, let him do what he wanted to him, and watched, hands gripping at his own knees as Sherlock took him clumsily to the brink of orgasm, then over it, then beyond it. " _Yes_..."

John was barely aware of Sherlock gripping himself, of using John's come to finish himself off, far too quickly for John to do more than wheeze out a laugh, "You... you're _annoyed_ with me—"

" _Always_."

"I'm... I'm still trying Sherlock... and today was—"

" _Shut up_."

"Yeah... yeah okay, Sherlock. Okay..."

Sherlock messily, sweetly, emotionally peppered the side of John's face with kisses, wiping them both off and tucking them close, letting John rest an abruptly heavy head to his shoulder, "I lied... it's not always..."

"Yeah... I know..."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels us! 
> 
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> 


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